


All You Have is Your Fire

by fandomfix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfix/pseuds/fandomfix
Summary: Now that the apocalypse has been averted, Aziraphale feels it's finally time to say how he feels. To acknowledge how they both feel.





	All You Have is Your Fire

**Author's Note:**

> It's been over 3 years since I last wrote for a new fandom, and apparently i decided to jump into one i've lurked in for _years_. So yeah, not my first fic but my first good omens one and i hope i did it justice!
> 
> title comes from "Arsonist's Lullaby" by Hozier (cause i'm obsessed) and the original idea that inspired me came from [this](https://fandomfix8.tumblr.com/post/185942579592/oh-oh-shit).

He knows that Crowley thinks he’s clever. To be quite frank, he knows he could out fox most people if he tried.

The thing is, he doesn’t try. Because trying to manipulate people is only fun if you plan to do something to them and that wouldn’t be _angelic_.

(Asking your friend of 6,000 years to perform minor miracles for you doesn’t count. Especially when you know you aren’t tricking him at all.)

The point is, Crowley thinks he’s clever. Even said as much to him during the _unpleasantness_ of the past week. But there is one subject that always leaves him at a loss.

You see, the Blitz was not that long ago, in the grand scheme of Heaven and Hell, of Humanity. It was only 78 years ago, a blink, a snap of the fingers.

What was a long time was 6,000 years of history. Of fights and resistance to the pull he felt for the demon beside him. To looking at the being next to him one afternoon in a theater, and realizing that he liked that ridiculous beard.

Of hearing his voice in a prison cell and feeling his heart leap in an unfamiliar way, a way he wanted to keep feeling.

Of all the little moments when he’d feel Crowley’s presence, hear his voice, watch his hands move and listen to him talk. All the times he stared at that tattoo by his ear and…it doesn’t matter what he thinks about then.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize he was falling in love with Crowley. After all, he’s very clever.

But it was almost in the same breath as the first realization that he’d known it could never be. If upstairs found out he’d been… _consorting._ If they knew that he sought out a demon’s company over any other being. If they knew how his throat ran dry and his unnecessary heart picked up speed each time they were reunited after decades apart.

Well, he wasn’t completely sure what would happen, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

And so he ignored it. Placed it into a box in the back of his mind that was never opened.

Or at least, opened very rarely.

(You try having the only being you’ve ever loved so deeply ask you to hand them their demise and see if you can react well. He’ll wait.)

The point was, he knew he was in love. Knew that he was the worst kind of angel, because he loved Crowley above all the angels in Heaven. Loved him more than he loved the humans, whom he loved a great deal.

Perhaps loved him more than Her.

But there was more to his silence than the disapproval of the higher ups. There was also Crowley himself.

Who always had a sarcastic remark ready when Aziraphale did something ridiculous. Who always smiled indulgently when Aziraphale’s eccentricities got the better of him.

He didn’t doubt he was Crowley’s friend. He could never admit it out loud for fear of punishment, but he knew it was true. But Crowley’s actions seemed to speak only of mild affection, friendship.

But friendship wasn’t all he felt for Crowley and he refused to ruin the Arrangement by even hinting at it.

(One could argue that he should have been paying more attention to those smiles and tolerant miracles. But he is the one telling the story and he’d appreciate a stop to the interruptions. Thank you.)

Back to the Blitz. Yes, he’d been in love for years. He’d also fought bitterly with Crowley the last time they’d seen each other. He figured with the war on Crowley had bigger fish to fry than one little angel in a corner of dark little London.

But Crowley showed up. Crowley redirected the bombs to stop the Nazis from discorporating them.

Crowley saved his books.

That was the moment. The soft tenor of Crowley’s voice as he handed over the bag. The immediate knowledge he’d held of how Aziraphale would mourn the loss of such fine editions.

That was when the thought first crossed his mind.

_‘He’s in love with me too.’_

He couldn’t say anything. It would only embarrass them both after an already embarrassing evening.

(Also, he already went over the extenuating circumstances. He’d hate to repeat himself.)

So, he stayed silent. Stared at the man’s back as he strode away. Called in a favor to give him his death even as the idea of him leaving turned a stomach that shouldn’t be able to feel such nausea.

He fought against Heaven and Hell with Crowley. And even though for a moment he lost himself to duty, buried his love too deep for even himself to feel, it didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop hating to see Crowley walk away from him. He didn’t stop hating himself for knowing how much he’d hurt the demon.

He didn’t stop wishing they could admit they loved each other. Because then their arguments wouldn’t end so barbed.

78 years is nothing. A flash in the pan, as the humans say.

(Aziraphale has no idea what it means, but it’s a lovely visual.)

But realizing your love is requited and still not being able to express it makes those years seem endless.

And then the apocalypse fails. Stops. Decides today isn’t the day thank you very much, I think I’ll take a bit of a nap, no world destroying now I had a big lunch.

Their ruse succeeds. They’re left alone for the time being.

And as they dine at the Ritz, staring at each other and murmuring about _the world_ , it hits him.

Why does he still need to be silent?

What’s stopping him from reaching out and holding Crowley’s hand? Why does he need to keep himself from looking too long or smiling too softly? Why does he need to keep his thoughts quiet and his mouth shut?

“My dear,” he says as they’re walking back to Soho. Usually he’d prefer not to walk, but Crowley insisted and after the week they’ve had he doesn’t feel inclined to deny him.

“Yes angel?” It’s the hesitation that makes him realize he’d interrupted Crowley. He doesn’t even know what he’d been saying, which is out of character for him.

(Normally, he can recite line by line what Crowley has said at any given moment.)

He pauses, but it’s too late to back out now. He has Crowley’s attention.

(He always has it.)

“I’ve been thinking. About everything that’s happened.”

“Hard not to, considering it was yesterday.”

He glances down and away from the demon, smiling at the absurdity of what he’d said. But this was the moment. He might never have the courage to talk about this again if he waits. It’s now or never, as they say.

“Yes well, I realized…”

The words clog in his throat. He feels himself starting to stutter, like he always does when he’s nervous.

Fortunately, when you’re walking with someone who’s known you for upwards of six millennia, it’s simple for them to recognize and fill the silence.

“Angel, something’s always running in that head of yours, so I’m sure whatever it is is terribly important. But can it wait till tomorrow? I’d rather not stand here all night.”

Aziraphale looks back at him, recognizing the out for what it is. A way to sidestep any important conversations until he feels more comfortable. Oh, how he loves him.

But he will never be comfortable, not until this is said.

“This will only take a moment.” He steels himself, straightening his back and looking right into Crowley’s eyes.

(Or sunglasses, but you knew what he meant)

“Crowley, they aren’t watching us now. They probably won’t for a while.”

He can see the wrinkle forming between Crowley’s eyes. They had, after all, discussed this already.

“And I felt such a weight off my chest when I realized that. Do you know why?”

Crowley’s lips purse. Aziraphale knows if he stays quiet long enough Crowley will actually answer. He can’t have that. He can’t stop talking now.

“If they aren’t watching. If they aren’t checking our every move, waiting for us to fail or betray…it means I don’t have to hide it anymore.”

“Hide? What’s that even mean, angel? Hide?” Crowley’s voice is getting angry. However, it’s the righteous anger he always expresses when Aziraphale mentions the way the others treat him. It’s been especially prominent today, which he’s fairly sure means something happened when Crowley was masquerading as him.

(But as previously mentioned, he’s very clever. He knows better than to ask.)

He steps so that they are standing face-to-face. Crowley’s antsy movements, the beginning of a pace he saw oncoming, all stop. They’re looking at each other, and suddenly Aziraphale can’t take the barrier between them. So even though he hasn’t spoken yet, even though he hasn’t expressed his thoughts yet, he reaches forward. He gently lifts the sunglasses off Crowley’s face so that they are standing eye to eye. He hears the nonexistent breath catch in Crowley’s chest and he can’t help the soft smile that forms on his lips. He tucks the glasses into his breast pocket.

“I mean, Crowley,” he says softly, stepping even closer so that there’s almost no space between them. “that I have been in love with you for centuries. And I don’t have to pretend not to be anymore.”

Crowley stares at him, and he lets himself be looked at. He knows this is a lot to take in. Especially when unlike himself, Crowley never caught on that their feelings were mutual.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement, and suddenly there is a hand coming to rest ever so gently on his cheek. It’s hesitant, fragile, and he almost doesn’t feel it. So he leans his head into it, letting his smile spread a little larger. He feels another hand hesitantly wrap around his waist.

It’s hard to say who closes the space first. Who takes the final step in a dance that has been going nonstop for more years than most humans can count. But suddenly there are lips pressing to lips. There is a hand lifting up into hair that has been tempting him for…well, forever. There is a hand going to support the head of the only being who’s made him feel blessed since he Fell, as they push even closer together.

They stand wrapped in each other, their eyes closed and their breathing stopped so they can live in the kiss as long as they want.

Aziraphale doubts they will ever let go again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment or kudos if you liked, and come say hey on my [tumblr](http://fandomfix8.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/fandomfix8)!


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